


Rainy Days

by fjalamoth



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkwardness, F/F, First Time, Monstrous Regiment - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fjalamoth/pseuds/fjalamoth
Summary: Life goes on for Polly and Mal in the army. Whether faced with enemy soldiers, seemingly endless bad weather or awkward attempts at seduction, together they will make the most of it.





	Rainy Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hazel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, hazel!

When on the third day the rain still hadn't stopped, a steady drizzle that made everyone absolutely miserable and left her feet in a perpetual state of dampness, Polly had had enough.

"Are you absolutely _sure_ they're coming this way? That they haven't decided to take a short cut through Talanka after all?"

"I'm sure." Mal looked irritated, but whether it was at Polly, the weather, or the dwindling supply of coffee beans, she couldn't be sure. "There's an entire battalion stationed near that town, they'd be fools to attempt it. And whatever you might think of Zlobenians, they don't suffer fools gladly."

"All right, all right." Polly carefully kept her tone conciliatory. The last thing they needed right now was to start squabbling for no reason. "As long as you're sure. It won't be much of an ambush if they never arrive."

"They've probably got stuck in the mud. As it happens, we've been having such lovely weather this week. Even the coffee beans are getting damp".

Mal was definitely sore about the coffee, then. 

Someone in the bushes behind them sneezed.

"Yes, private?"

"Clem's fever is getting worse, sir." Clem, short for Clementine, a sullen girl and the youngest of the new "lads", had caught a bit of a cold on their very first day of making camp. No one had thought much of it then. "I..Sarge, she's burning up. We've tried to keep her warm and Pinkerton made one of those foul smelling poultices for her. We still can't get it to go down."

"Aw, crap." Polly glanced at Mal, and saw her worry reflected on the usually unreadable face. They really needed to get the ill recruit somewhere that wasn't a cold and damp tent in the middle of nowhere. "Private, here's what we're gonna do—"

Of course this was when the sound of off key singing in the distance signaled that the Zlobenian squad finally had arrived.

"Lonster"—for that was the recruit's name—"tell everyone to get in position **now**. Mal, I need you to lead the group flanking left."

"Consider it done." Mal flashed Polly a grin that showed the tip of her fangs, as Lonster disappeared into the thicket with a hurried "yessir". "Finally some real action, I thought we were going to have to wait until we'd all gone as grey as the Duchess's downstairs." Ever since an officer had once reprimanded Mal for "unladylike" language, she had made a pointed effort to be crude and suggestive every now and then. Mal, Polly thought fondly, very much enjoyed defying expectations.

***

For all the waiting they'd done the battle itself was anticlimactic. The Zlobenians had clearly not expected to meet with any trouble, and some of them even appeared to be drunk. That explained the singing; Polly supposed you had to be drunk to be in the mood for song in this weather. When Mal had appeared nearly out of thin air and scared the pants off the Zlobenian sergeant, the tide of the battle was decided right then and there. The only casualty on either side was one of the enemy soldiers, who had slipped in the mud and hit his head and was now nursing a bump on the head and a possible concussion. Polly was glad to have been spared the loss of life—she wasn't squeamish, she couldn't be in her position, but she'd never come to enjoy unnecessary bloodshed. War was never neat, or orderly, but for once everything seemed to have gone to plan. They could finally get Clem some proper care, and even the Zlobenian captives had perked up (but only slightly) when they heard that they were going to be transported to a _dry_ prison.  And they were definitely going to acquire some coffee beans that didn't have mould growing on them for Mal: the vampire might not show it as other than some more than usual skittishness, but her patience was wearing thin, and it always paid to play it safe where her coffee addiction was concerned.

The trek to the nearest village was almost cheerful, and they made it before dusk. The villagers themselves were clearly less than happy to see a bunch of soldiers and their prisoners though: they scattered like scared animals and scurried inside their homes, all the while throwing scared glances at the squad and their quarry. Only an elderly woman and two men, leaning on their pitchforks in a manner that probably was meant to come across as casual but with a tenseness that betrayed that the presence of the farming tools was anything but coincidental, stayed outside to greet them. Polly supposed that they had every right to be cautious these days. She straightened her back and prepared to draw on every inch of the authority her rank commanded her. 

"I'm Sergeant Polly Perks, and this here is my squad. We're transporting some prisoners and would appreciate the kind assistance of the inhabitants of this lovely village here."

The villagers looked somewhat appeased by her politeness, even as there was no mistaking the clear demand.

"Of course we'll support our brave soldiers, sergeant." It was one of the men who spoke, and the other two villagers nodded.

If any of them were surprised by her gender, they made no mention of it. Polly supposed word must have spread even to remote villages that a wind of change was blowing through the Borogravian military. Just a few months earlier, an openly female sergeant would've been unthinkable.

"You lot staying the night?" the old woman asked.

Polly confirmed that they indeed needed somewhere to sleep.

"There's a shed we can clean out for...them"-here, the woman looked pointedly at the prisoners— "but we don't have enough men to guard them. We don't want any trouble."

"That's alright, ma'am. We'll post a guard," Mal piped up.

Arrangements were done quickly after that. The prisoners were locked up in a hastily cleared shed, the lads were accommodated in a barn, and Polly and Mal got themselves a cottage all of their own on account of their respective ranks.

"I feel bad about driving out that young couple, but this really beats sleeping in a tent." Polly yawned, stretching her sore muscles.

"I don't feel bad. They're going to be right back home before they even know it." Mal was sprawled out on the rug next to Polly, wine glass in hand, gazing into the flames dancing in the newly lit fireplace before them.

The way Mal was sniffing at the wine was familiar, and Polly had a moment of realization.

"You mixed coffee in your wine, didn't you? You dork." It was said somewhat affectionately.

"It's surprisingly tasty. Coffee really goes with everything."

Mal sighed, dreamily.

For a moment they simply sat there, side by side, in a companionable silence.

Then Mal slowly, deliberately, moved her hand so that the wine glass tipped over, spilling some of its contents on Polly's shirt and lap.

"Oops," Mal said, even though it was very clear to anyone with half a brain that it had been no accident.

Polly just stared at the vampire incredulously. Then the significance of the odd action caught up with her. _Oh_. And then, because she couldn't help it, she burst out laughing.

Unfortunately that was the entirely wrong thing to do, as Mal immediately stiffened and moved to her feet as quickly as only a vampire who had just got her feelings hurt can. She would've completed her escape too had Polly not quickly grabbed hold of her arm.

"Mal, no, wait! I'm not rejecting you!"

Some of the stiffness in Mal's expression melted, but she still looked wary.

"You're not?"

"No, silly. Come on, Mal, you've got to admit that as far as attempts at seduction go that was _terrible_. You just threw a glass of wine on me. My clothes are probably, no, certainly, ruined. But—" As Mal's expression once again seemed on the verge of clouding over Polly felt that she needed to get to the point quickly in order to prevent further misunderstandings. "—But, Mal, consider me seduced. I don't mind that you've come up with the weirdest plan to seduce me _ever_. In fact I love it. You've got me, right here, alright, ruined clothes and all."  

This seemed the exact right moment for Polly to kiss Mal, and so she did. Mal's eyes grew very large as Polly approached her, and as she lightly pressed her mouth upon the waiting lips, Mal drew in a ragged breath. That reaction sent Polly's heart fluttering. As they slowly separated, and stopped to just look at each other, the air felt heady with possibilities.   

Right. So this was a thing that was going to happen now.  Polly didn't often dwell on her own inexperience in intimate matters; she'd had a quick aborted fumble with a farmer's boy once, and his clammy hands had been unpleasant and she'd felt nothing but vaguely bored and horribly awkward, and that was that. Then war had happened, and things of that nature had sort of taken a back seat. Once she'd settled back home at the Duchess, though, Polly had found herself missing Mal more than she had expected to. She'd think of something clever  to say, and then feel disappointed that Mal wasn't around to hear it. She'd see a glimpse of black hair in a crowd, and half expect to see Mal even though it couldn't possibly be her. She'd be wiping down the tables late in the evening, and suddenly she'd wonder how it would be like if she and Mal were to be more than just very good friends. And now she was about to find out.

It was Mal who initiated their second kiss. Recovered from her emotional turmoil, she latched onto Polly with a fervor that betrayed the depth of her want. Polly had never considered her tongue to be a particularly sensitive organ, but now, suddenly, with Mal's tongue swiping at it, she became aware of every single nerve ending there. They were almost embracing, and Polly didn't know where to put her hands, and then she realized that if she wanted to she could touch Mal's breasts and that realization made her gasp. No sooner had she thought of this, than she brought her right hand up between their bodies and caressed one of the soft mounds there. Into her mouth, Mal moaned. The combined stimuli went like lightning straight to Polly's groin. It was all too much; gasping, Polly, detached herself from Mal. Mal looked just as shaken as she did, and both were breathing heavily. They lay there catching their breaths for a minute, then Mal used her fingers to gently trace the contours of Polly's face down to her chin. Then she continued further down Polly's body.   

Mal brought one of her hands close to the button's of Polly's shirt, then paused. "Is this okay?" A slight shaking of the hands betrayed her nervousness; as smooth and practiced as she may wish to appear, this was probably relatively new territory for her too. Either that or she was just nervous because it was happening with Polly, because it was _them—_ and that thought was so exciting that it made Polly's heart hammer with an unbearable intensity.

Now, Polly might technically be one, but she'd be damned if she was ever going to act the blushing virgin.

"You made a mess, corporal, so you'd better clean it up too."

Even as Polly said it she knew how cheesy it sounded and she felt herself blush, suddenly very self conscious, but Mal just smiled at her. It was a dazzling, happy smile, a smile worth risking a little embarrassment for.

Mal's fingers were quick and nimble as she unbuttoned Polly's shirt, and then the shirt was open. Polly expected to feel uncomfortable at being so exposed, but the open hunger in Mal's eyes as she took in Polly's chest was exhilarating. The odd mix of wine and coffee had clung in a not altogether pleasant way to Polly's skin, but in the moment it had been forgotten. And then Mal started licking.

The sensation of Mal's tongue lapping up wine from her stomach should have been ticklish but what actually overcame Polly right now was sharp and heady arousal.

"Mmmm, you taste like coffee. Wine and coffee."

"Mal!" Polly giggled.

"I'm just saying. I could get addicted to you." Mal waggled her eyebrows in an impressive show of multitasking. Polly found it all too endearing.

Polly was pretty sure that she hadn't really gotten any wine on her breasts, but that was nonetheless where Mal was headed next. Polly made a truly obscene sound as Mal swiped her tongue at her right nipple. Then Mal gave up all pretense of just "cleaning" her, and cupped her left breast with her hand.

Things got increasingly heated after that. Polly decided that it wasn't fair that Mal should be doing all the work, and so she set out to divest Mal of her shirt too. She discovered that vampires could get goosebumps, and also that Mal had a curiously shaped birthmark right below her left collarbone. And then Mal retaliated by showing Polly just how nimble and dexterous those elegant fingers of hers truly could be when applied to the right task...

*** 

Afterwards, as they lay by the dying fire, Mal wrapped around Polly like she was afraid that she would disappear if she didn't hold onto her, Polly felt that for this one brief moment in time, her life was perfect.

"I truly am sorry about the clothes." Mal's voice was muffled, as she had her face pressed into Polly's hair.

"It doesn't matter. We'll say that I spilled it. The lads will think that I can't hold my drink though: you're undermining my authority, you cheeky bastard."

"Sorry." Mal's wide grin showed that she was anything but sorry.

"How did you even come up with that crazy idea of just pouring wine onto me in the first place though?"

Mal mumbled something, but Polly couldn't quite make it out.

"Come again?"

"I said that I read it in a book."

"A book."

"Yes, a book. It was in one of those racy novels my mother liked to keep around, alright. It seemed like a good idea at the time"

For the second time in one day, Polly burst into laughter.

***

The following day, Polly woke up someone banging on the door to the cottage. Mal refused to wake up, and just grumbled something about coffee in a very un-vampiric fashion. Polly quickly slipped into some clothes, and opened the door to good news. Clem was on the mend. The old woman refused to tell her what she'd used to cure the poor "lad", but whatever it was she had been able to put a stop to the fever and Clem was going to be "just fine" according to her.

A couple of the Zlobenian soldiers had attempted a daring escape during the night, but Polly's squad had been trained for situations just like that, and nobody had even got hurt during the debacle let alone escaped. Polly was certain that this would not be the last attempted escape of its kind, but she was determined to see to it that the following attempts were to remain equally doomed.

Inside the cottage, Mal was waiting for her to come back to bed. They had a whole life ahead of them together, and before that, a day to seize. And, Polly felt while looking at the clear blue sky with not even a hint of clouds, most miraculously of all: the rain had finally stopped.


End file.
